The Vacuum Cleaner

Posted on February 17, 2016 by Sheila Moss

vacuum_cleaning

What can I do? What can I do? The vacuum cleaner is sitting there waiting for me. I hate to vacuum. It is one of the best “bad” inventions ever. I’ve tried all kinds of vacuum cleaners, but it doesn’t seem to matter what kind I have, they are all basically the same. They suck.

Vacuums seem to have a mind of their own about what they will eat. Oh, sure, as long as the floors do not have any loose objects on them, things go well. The vac will hum along, pick up the loose dust and deposit it inside its paper belly.

But, what about the occasional tiny piece of debris on the rug? No matter how many times you run the vacuum over it, nothing happens. It just sits there until you finally have to bend over and pick it up. It seems the vacuum cleaner is selective about what it eats and doesn’t eat.

There are some things that it definitely should leave alone – but it turns into a silver demon, sucking up all manner of objects that it knows will become stuck in its fan, make dinging noises, and refuse to go into the bag.

Take paper clips, safety pins, or hair pins. Ever hit one of those babies while vacuuming? Inevitably the cleaner will suck it up before you can stop pushing the machine. The noise is deafening. It would be okay if it would just go on into the bag and then shut up about it. But it sticks in the fan.

By the time you finish taking out the roller, breaking all your finger nails, and retrieving the hateful object, you don’t care whether the rug gets cleaned or not. And where does all that thread wound around the roller and brushes come from? Is it collecting string?

I don’t get it. It can suck up a throw rug or plastic grocery bag in two seconds flat. It can eat the draperies from across the room. It can terrorize the cat, drown out the football game on TV, blow a fuse, and set off a round of sneezing that all the allergy pills in the medicine cabinet can’t cure. But it can’t pick up dust that is too close to the baseboard in the hall.

There are all kinds of these machines. I’ve never looked it up, but I’m sure the variety is overwhelming. In my lifetime, I’ve probably owned half of them. The one I have now cost a small fortune. The more the horsepower, the better it is supposed to suck. The only difference I’ve seen is that it can find the pennies and marbles quicker.

Yes, I’ve tried the canister style as well. I used to swear by them. However, after using a wire coat hanger to pull out wads of dust stuck in the hose, I finally decided I could no longer deal with it and went to an upright style. I still use the canister once in a while as it gets into cracks and hard to reach places. Not only do you need one of the monsters to clean your house, you really need two.

And there are those paper bags to empty. Now that’s a job for a sanitation worker, not a woman.  You can’t believe all that gray stuff came out of your house. You have to resist any urge to look inside for stray coins or diamond rings and deposit the entire mess in the closest trash bag.

Did you ever have a bag come loose inside the vacuum cleaner letting the dust accumulate? Oh, my gosh, that’s another whole story. On a day like that, I simply want to retire from house cleaning forever.

What did they do before the vacuum cleaner was invented? No wonder wall-to-wall carpeting is going out and hardwood floors are making a comeback.

©2009

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The Magic Watch

Posted on February 16, 2016 by Sheila Moss

MM watches

I made a complete fool of myself today. . . not that it is anything new. Usually, however, I do so with some notion that such an outcome is a possibility.

Let me explain what happened.

On my very first trip to Disneyland years ago, I purchased a Mickey Mouse watch as a souvenir. Since then, I have always purchased a Mickey Mouse watch any time I visit Mouseland. It’s a tradition.

I like Mickey Mouse watches. I remember when, as a kid, one of my friends got the first one I had ever seen. It had a red strap and Mickey’s arms were in motion, acting as hands for the clock. It was absolutely the coolest watch I had ever seen.

Since then, the watches have come to have a different meaning for me. The cartoon character makes it a watch with a sense of humor. It reminds me to have a sense of humor and not to take life too seriously. Any society so obsessed by time that we must strap clocks to our arms surely needs to lighten up.

Now, I know you can get a Mickey Mouse watch anywhere from Amazon to Walmart, but something about being able to say it comes from the Magic Kingdom itself makes it even more special – or even more Mickey Mouse, if you prefer.

Just for fun, I checked through my collection of cheap $10 watches, the ones with the dead batteries that I’m going to replace one of these days – maybe. What do I find among them but a slightly tarnished Mickey Mouse watch. It has a shiny new red band on it; so, apparently I replaced the band at some point so far in the distant past that I have forgotten about it.

“I can wear the old watch for fun if I ever go to the Magic Kingdom,” I think. Heck, I might even bend tradition and get a Minnie Mouse since I still have the Mickey. It needs a new battery, though.

The lady at the watch counter looked at the watch and said, “I can’t replace the battery for this watch.”

“Why not?” I wonder.

“This is a wind-up watch.”

Wind-up watch? I forgot there was such a thing. I tried winding it and sure enough it could be wound.

I felt very stupid. “I guess it would cost far more to get it cleaned and fixed than it is worth.”

“Probably so,” she said.

Some of the early Mickey Mouse watches have become valuable antique collector items, but mine is not a collectable. It is merely a piece of junk that has quit running.

A bit of Disney trivia: The Mickey Mouse watch was first introduced in 1933, made by Ingersoll watch company. It sold for $3.25, and later was reduced to $2.99. Ingersoll did well with the watch and went on to become the Timex Watch Company.

The Mickey Mouse watch is now manufactured by various companies and is the most sought after Disney collectable item. One famous Disney watch is a Goofy watch with numbers displayed backwards and hands that go counter-clockwise. Originally selling for a mere twenty bucks, you would now have to drop about $700 for it, if you could find one.

When I got home, I took the elderly Mickey watch out of my pocket to put it away (or throw it away). I looked at it and saw that the dadgum thing was ticking along keeping perfect time. I put it on my arm and it has been running ever since, just like magic.

I still intend to get a new one sometime just for fun, but they don’t make ’em like they used to.

©2008

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Senior Discounts

Posted on February 15, 2016 by Sheila Moss

seniorsEver since I hit about 55, I’ve been getting mail from AARP wanting me to join. No, absolutely not! I have this theory that if I don’t admit to being old, it will stop the clock from ticking.

Anyhow, I don’t need a card to remind me I’m a senior.  Looking in the mirror is enough. Who in the world needs an AARP card to remind them they are over the hill? If someone wants to give me a senior discount, why do I need an AARP card? If the wrinkles are not proof enough, I have a driver’s license.

I went to the eyeglasses place the other day because I broke my glasses.  Yes, I wear glasses, just like any old person. The clerk wanted the phone number of my doctor to check my prescription, so I looked through all the cards in my wallet to try and find it.

“Do you belong to AARP?” she asked. “I saw your Medicare card in your wallet. I could give you a discount if you belong to AARP.”

I can get a discount with an AARP card, but not a Medicare card?

“I never would have guessed you were that old if I hadn’t seen the card,” she explained.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

It so happens that I do belong to AAA. So, I got the discount — not for belonging to AARP but because AAA wants old people to be able to see how to drive, I suppose.

Actually, I’ve never really understood the senior discount concept. Why do old folks deserve to pay less just for still being alive? With all the baby-boomers reaching retirement age, pretty soon AARP and everyone else is going to be overwhelmed with old folks wanting discounts.

The “fixed income” concept doesn’t hold water for me. A lot of people are on a fixed income and a lot of people are worse off than seniors, but they don’t get a break on prices. Why are we rewarded for getting senile?

Kroger gives us a senior discount, but only on Wednesday. If you must be old, you should be sure to do it on the right day. I can’t remember to go grocery shopping on the right day of the week, so I go where they give low prices to everyone all the time… or at least they say they do.

I like to go thrift shopping at Goodwill and they also give senior discounts unless the item is on sale and already marked down. The other day when I asked for a senior discount at the cash register, they carded me. I was flattered. When I went there yesterday, it was senior double discount day.

Speaking of getting carded, when I buy cigarettes at Walgreen, I always get carded. I don’t smoke, but sometimes my daughter asks me to pick up a pack for her. They card everyone there. I always show them my driver’s license and say, “Am I too old to smoke?”

Some restaurants give discounts to seniors, but you usually have to order a special meal. That’s the deal at IHOP, where I always order a senior breakfast. It is smaller and has less food, so I’m not sure you are really saving any money.

Now senior discounts for movies, and entertainment events are good deals. I always ask if they give senior discounts on tickets. You can save a bundle at Dollywood. Of course, they probably have to give old folks discounts to bribe them to come to an amusement park.

Movies have never asked me for an AARP card, or a AAA card, or a driver’s license or a Medicare card. I suppose they think no one would claim to be over the hill just to get in cheap.

You don’t possibly suppose I could look my age to them, do you?

©2008

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The Star Party

Posted on February 15, 2016 by Sheila Moss

starsSome of my friends are highly educated and intellectual. They enjoy activities like going to lectures at the local university. For some time, they have talked excitedly about going to a “Star Party.” In the interest of keeping up with the Jones’, and possibly even learning something new, my guy and I decided to join them.

When I was a college student at this particular university back in the Dark Ages, there was no new Science Building. In fact the campus has changed so much that there is scarcely anything that I recognize any more. But we put the address in the GPS and figured we would find the place. 

We barely had time to make it there after Honey got home from work, so he hurried and rushed around… No. Actually, he walked the dog and checked email. “We need to leave!” I insisted. Rush hour traffic in the suburbs is worse than in the city. I had visions of walking into a large lecture hall late and all eyes turning to look at us.

Once on the way, I insisted, “Don’t listen to the GPS. I know a short cut.” Famous last words in most cases, but in this particular instance, I actually did know a short cut. After commuting to campus for years, I had tried every route on the map. I might not know the campus layout, but I did know the way to the main gate and that had not changed.

Once there, we drove around the campus, but it was dark and nothing looked familiar. Scary when something once so familiar has totally changed. Finally, we gave up, but as we were leaving, we spotted some of our friends arriving. We made a quick U-turn and followed them to the parking lot.

Now a “Star Party” sounds like a fun thing. Think Hollywood. Think movie stars. Think country music stars, which are plentiful in this area. But these were not that kind of stars; they were the heavenly bodies found in the night sky – astronomical stars.

We were given maps of the evening sky in the northern hemisphere with tiny specks representing stars and lines from one star to another, showing the outline of constellations representing pictures like a hunter with dogs, the big dipper, or mythological twins. I’ve never been able to see those patterns myself, so I was doomed right from the beginning.

The lecture was about planets and their orbits around the sun, when they are closest, and in which direction they are facing. The focus was supposed to be a ninth planet they believe they have discovered, since Pluto has been officially expelled from the planet family.

Unless you are into astronomy or astrology, I didn’t see any particular need to know all this information. I politely tried to stay awake, wondering if it would be rude to take out my cell phone. The professor droned on and on about galaxies, planets, and celestial objects. He recommended going to a dark location to star gaze. I’m not sure how we would use the printed star map in the dark.

“What time is it?” I whispered to Honey. The forty-five minutes was up. When I was in college and a professor went past the time a lecture was supposed to be over, the class got up and walked out. I was sorely tempted.

Finally, the lecturer quit talking and invited us to freeze to death outside while looking through a telescope. Our friends passed on this and I found out the actual reason for attending the star party – beer and pizza. We adjourned to the Mellow Mushroom and proceeded to have the real party.

You don’t suppose my intellectual friends were as bored as I was and were only looking for a sophisticated excuse to party?

©2016
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Hooked on eBay

Posted on February 14, 2016 by Sheila Moss

turquoise

I’m so tired I can’t hold my eyes open, but I can’t fall asleep. I might miss my final bid on eBay. It all started about a week ago when I decided that a turquoise and silver necklace would be a nice accessory to have.

I put “buy turquoise necklace” in a search engine and eventually found myself on eBay. I was a bit familiar with eBay as I’ve bought a few things there before; but I always lose when I bid, and it seems to be too much trouble and easier just to buy things elsewhere.

But I found this necklace that I loved! I had to have it, so I bid on it. And while I was waiting to see if I won, I found some other pretty things, and so I bid on them too. Then someone outbid me and I had to bid again.

I had it – auction fever.

I was bidding on things left and right. I couldn’t let someone else outbid me, could I? I was bidding on things I didn’t even want, then praying someone would outbid me so I wouldn’t have to buy them. Of course, if you really don’t want something, usually no one else does either.

My “watch” list was getting longer and longer, and my sleep time shorter and shorter. Just when I thought I was going to win, someone would jump in at the final moment and outbid me.

So that’s the way they want to play, huh?

Well, two could play this game! I quickly learned how the auction game works. I could swoop in and bid at the last minute too. How I hate that red X that says, “You have been outbid.”

I began to receive emails from eBay, so many I couldn’t read them all. “You have been outbid, act now.” “You have only a few hours left.” “Sorry, you have been outbid.” And occasionally, “Congratulations, you have won this item.”

The problem with winning is that you also have to “Pay the seller now.”

I have items in my “win” list, items in my “lost” list, items in my “watch” list and am keeping a mental “who gives a flip” list. I was really getting tired of all this, but I was obsessed and couldn’t quit looking. And when I looked, I always found something I wanted.

Everything was so cheap! That is if you didn’t consider the shipping costs, which are usually high as that is a way the seller assures that they will make a profit, regardless of the amount the item sells for.

If I could only stay awake long enough to wait until the auction closed on an item, maybe I could get it cheap. Why is it that all the good stuff closes in the middle of the night? Day after day with only 3 hours of sleep per night was beginning to wear on me.

Then items I “won” began to come in the mail. It wasn’t expensive stuff, just cheap semi-precious stones or vintage items that had caught my eye. Of course, I didn’t really win anything. I bought and paid for it.

My mad money in my PayPal account was dwindling faster than my ability to resist. One more look at the closing auctions, one more item added to my watch list, one more dollar to outbid that vicious person trying to outbid me. Where does it all end?

I’ve got a bunch of junk coming in the mail every day now – everything but the turquoise necklace, of course. I’m seeing red X’s everywhere I look – or is that just the inside of my exhausted eye balls?

There must be a self-help organization for auction addicts. If there is such an organization; however, somebody is probably trying to sell memberships on eBay.

Wonder how high the bid is?

 

 

©2008

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A Love Gift

Posted on February 13, 2016 by Sheila Moss

love

It’s Valentine’s and love is in the air. Dazzle your Valentine with love, wine and roses. But, face it, is that reality?

……Can we talk?

You guys spent last weekend watching the SuperBowl, didn’t you? And the weekend before that, it was the ProBowl. In fact, you have spent the last several months watching football, haven’t you?

How fortunate we are that Valentine’s Day follows the SuperBowl and end of the football season so closely. Almost seems like more than mere coincidence, doesn’t it? Anyhow, it is opportunity flaunting its Archilles heel. Football season is over and now is the perfect time to redeem yourself with your sweetie – the little woman.

So, what are your plans for Valentine’s Day? You DO have a plan, don’t you? Waiting until the last minute and calling the florist is NOT a plan! . Surf over to the gift selections and look at this one, “Call 1-800-flowers” (And pay $80 for a dozen roses that will wilt before she can get a good sniff.) Well, that should be enough to cool your enthusiasm for the last minute florist plan.

There’s always candy, you say? Now what woman in her right mind wants to blow her diet and ruin her figure on a bunch of chocolates from a lazy man? Truly, you can do better! And while we are on the subject of inappropriate gifts, stay away from Victoria’s Secret and the other sleazy lingerie departments. Velvet teddies? Stretch lace baby dolls? The idea is to get something for HER – not for yourself!

What does every woman want? JEWELRY. That’s simple enough. Too expensive? Well, a few minutes ago you were willing to spend $80 on a bunch of wilting flowers, so why not spend a few bucks for something that will last?

Gold is always nice – pure – like your love. See how this works? Stores are full of gold chains with little gold hearts at this time of the year. Very cute, a symbol of your love. Every woman has just a little bit of golddigger in her.

If you are not into cute gold hearts, how about some earrings? This means you will have to turn your eyes from the television set and look at her ears to see whether she wears earrings. Notice whether she favors the tiny little stud type or the big gold hoops. Remember – stick to gold, plain, pure, tasteful.

If you are a big spender (or didn’t miss a single game all season) get her a ring. The antique looking ones are very attractive and have a classic look. Don’t get sucked into buying those silly heart shaped “Valentine” stones – unless she is a teenager. If you are totally without a clue, just get a gold chain, the bigger the better. No woman can get too many gold chains.

Still thinking of something else? Oils, massage kits? Lotions? Bath products? Scented candles? Go back and reread the paragraph on sleazy lingerie. Perfume might work if you know the scent she wears. Don’t trust your own nose, however. Aura of Locker Room will NOT be something she likes – regardless of how good it smells to you.

What are you going to get in return? Don’t worry about it. Women know how to handle this holiday. She will remember and repay you. Trust me on this one.

I’m so happy we could have this little chat!!!

You are NOT going to send her an e-card, are you? In spite of everything we’ve discussed here, are you going to wait until the last minute and send a cheap, FREE e-card? Well, could you at least turn off the TV and not watch the hockey game?

©2001

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To the Complaint Department (With Love)

Posted on February 12, 2016 by Sheila Moss

love

Dear Sir or Madam:

I am writing in regard to the delay in shipment of my order for 14 dozen Olympic quality, ultra accurate, gold tip arrows. Perhaps you do not understand the urgency of the situation.

I realize that you have no control over the suppliers of your stock; however, surely you have an existing supply in your warehouse. As a valid customer for so many years, I appeal to you to consider filling my order ahead of others.

Since Valentine Day will fall on the 14th day of February, as traditional, it is imperative that my order be received no later than the 13th. I must be ready for my flight and travel early the next morning in order to assure that couples the world over are not disappointed. Without equipment, I am powerless and love cannot be delivered to those in need of a bit of extra incentive at this time of the year.

Poets the world over have written poems and sonnets of love. Famous couples throughout the ages have depended on me to add that extra spark to their relationship that makes it more than just mere friendship. Surely you can understand that Cupid must have arrows!

Each and every year, I alone am responsible for targeting the hearts of individuals and filling them with passion for a beloved. What sort of Valentine’s Day will it be if Cupid cannot complete his task? I ask you, what sort of world would it be without love?

If you do not have the specific superlite carbon arrow, perhaps you can substitute a graphite of equal quality. While I do have a strong preference from my many years of expertise in these matters of heart, this is an emergency and not a time to stand on principle. We are talking about love here. Providing the incentive to fall in love is serious business.

While I do prefer carbon, ultra accuracy is not entirely essential, as my shot is so powerful that it is likely the unwary lover will be evoked into action even by a near center shot.

Reusing old arrows is not a practical option in my particular situation. Regardless of the durability of the arrow shaft, those struck by the arrow of Cupid usually become so amorous that is almost impossible to recover the arrows. For days, weeks, or even years afterwards, they will continue to pursue the beloved – to the highest mountains, to the deepest seas, to the ends of the earth, if necessary – well, you know the clichés. This phenomenon is widely documented in song and poetry.

You may have felt the sting of my arrow at one time yourself. Sooner or later practically everyone in the world is struck. You see, therefore, just how essential it is that my order be filled in a timely manner.

Please ship the 14 dozen arrows or an appropriate substitute at your earliest convenience. Otherwise I may be forced to refer the millions of irate lovers who will be asking why there was no Valentine’s Day this year to your complaint department.

Thank you for your kind attention, and I shall be waiting for your express package with my bow and quiver ready. The future of procreation is depending on you. I’m sure I can count on your cooperation.

With Love,
 Cupid

©2001

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Death by Taxes

Posted on February 11, 2016 by Sheila Moss

1040-form

I’ve managed to get things ready before April 15th without killing anyone.

There is nothing I love better than doing my income taxes — unless it is getting a wisdom tooth extracted. The IRS doesn’t pull wisdom teeth, but it does extract your savings account from the bank.

Most people hate April 15, the deadline for filing. I hate Jan 31, the deadline for income and interest statements. When I get tax forms in the mail, that means it is time to get my information together for the CPA. I don’t know why I have an accountant do my taxes as getting the paperwork together is the real work. All she has to do is write the numbers on a form.

I pulled all the things that I thought might apply to taxes right after the first of the year and put them in a large envelope that would break my foot if I happened to drop it. On the bright side, that might give me a large medical deduction for next year.

I have had a lot of medical expenses in the past year, and you are allowed to claim out of pocket medical expenses greater than a percentage of your income. I never can remember the percentage. My CPA knows. Maybe she is good for a few things after all.

I hate paperwork, especially paperwork involving money I’ve spent. Going though receipts for the past year reminds me of all the non-deductible things I’m trying to forget, like the expensive squeak in my new refrigerator and the stove that shot sparks across the kitchen.

I was trying to rectify my receipts against my bank statement last night while honey was watching TV:

“Can you turn down the noise,” I snapped.

“It isn’t that loud,” he growled.

If there is anything I hate worse than taxes it is that TV program “WipeOut.” Of all the juvenile, ignorant programs on the boob tube, it is the worst. When he went out to walk the dog, I turned it off. When he came back in, he turned it back on.

I was so stressed out with numbers by that time that I was ready to throw all the papers across the room. I don’t know how anyone can do people’s taxes for a living. I would be stark raving mad by the end of the first week. Heck, I’m stark raving mad after an hour.

My son came in, saw the paper storm and asked what I was doing. “Income taxes and stay out of my way.” I barked. He did.

Things never seem to match up exactly right. This time it was a dental receipt that was missing. Now I will have to get the dentist to send me a stupid duplicate in case the stupid IRS decides to do a stupid audit.

Other than that, I think I am ready to call for an appointment and see how much money I own them this year. I always have to pay. What I would really like to do is claim a standard deduction and let the IRS scratch its head. Sometimes I think I would probably come out just as well.

Thank goodness I do not have a business or I would never get my taxes done. My CPA says my writing income is a hobby, not a business, which makes it far less complicated. That’s a good thing as I would probably break something if figuring deductions was any more nerve wracking.

I just need to print out a few more items on my computer and I’ll be ready. And it’s only February. That’s two years in a row that I’ve managed to get things ready before April 15th without killing anyone.

If it wasn’t for my accountant, I would burn my receipts, mail the IRS a check for the entire amount of my bank account, and forget it. After all, how much is your sanity worth anyhow?

©2012

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Car Talk

Posted on February 10, 2016 by Sheila Moss

Ford

Of 2,000 people surveyed, half talk to their cars.

A survey by British International Motor Sports found that nearly half of the 2000 people they surveyed talk to their cars. That wouldn’t be too bad, but forty percent believe that cars have feelings and twenty percent worry about their car being offended.

About a fifth of women have pet names for their car. Some owners praise their cars for a job well done and give them encouragement along the way on a long trip.

So, what would a conversation with a car sound like? I can imagine what I’d say to that Ford of mine.

Hi Ernie,

I don’t know how to tell you this without hurting your feelings, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I want a divorce. I’m sure you know why, but I’ll tell you again just to be sure we are on the same page.

For one thing, you are too expensive. Your payments take half my paycheck and I don’t have any money left to do things that are more fun, like take you on vacation, for example.

Trying to satisfy your appetite for gasoline is depressing and I have nothing to show for keeping your tank full except for a few extra miles of highway. Life is measured from one fill up to the next.

You are high maintenance. Even when there is nothing wrong with you, you have to go in for service. You would think with modern technology they could figure out a way for cars not to need maintenance when nothing is wrong.

You are getting old and cranky. It’s always something since you got a few miles down the road. Either something quits pumping or a belt becomes loose or you are squeaking at me for no reason at all. The best I can hope for is that you will run.

There are too many like you in the world. The world is half asphalt with cars on top of cars and still they keep turning out clones. There should be birth control for autos.

I don’t like your friends. Nothing is more stressful than all of you cars trying to go somewhere at the same time, speeding and creating traffic jams. I’m tired of life in the fast lane.

You have too many nervous breakdowns. I live in mortal fear, not knowing when you will flip out again. I have to belong to a motor club in case you decide to roll over and play dead and leave me stranded on the highway.

I constantly worry about infidelity. Some shadowy figure is always waiting around the corner to steal you and whisk you away for unknown parts. You will just take off with anyone who has a key, won’t you? I have to keep you locked up and even then I feel worried.

I hate to have to bring this up, but you are a filthy pig! Every time I get you washed and cleaned up, you seem to find a mud puddle to run though. I never know if you will have tar on your hubcaps or bugs in your grill. It’s downright embarrassing.

The bottom line is that I don’t love you any more. The fun is gone out of our relationship. It used to be exciting to go out with you, but we have grown apart. I have other interests now and you are just an expensive liability.

So, I’ve decided to divorce you and move on with my life. Maybe I should have abandoned you long ago and walked away. I don’t know why I’ve put off this little talk off so long.

Oh, drat, Ernie, stop that crying! Use your windshield wipers. Blow your horn! I should have realized that if a car could get offended, it could also feel used.

©2006

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A Boy’s First Frog

Posted on February 9, 2016 by Sheila Moss

frog

My grandson stood in the open garage door looking out at the summer rain that had spoiled his plans to stretch the day by playing outside in the dark and maybe even chasing fireflies.

Just as he was about to go inside, he saw it – a jumping rock. Then he realized it was not a rock at all, but something better – a FROG – the stuff a young boy’s dreams are made of. It’s raining frogs, he thought; maybe it really does rain frogs!

He ran inside wide-eyed to tell the news, “I saw a frog!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s a frog, come and see.”

And sure enough the frog was still there hunched down on the wet driveway in the rain. “Can we catch it?” he asked. How could anyone refuse the request of a wide-eyed boy who wanted to chase a frog?

The frog sensed trouble and went hopping down the driveway with my grandson hopping behind him squealing with delight, and my daughter skipping puddles in the rain. After several attempts, the elusive frog was captured.

The child held it in his small hands feeling the life in the creature.

“Can I take it inside?”

The frog was placed in a bucket that was too deep for the creature to jump out and taken inside to the light of the kitchen to admire. My grandson looked at its bulging frog eyes, its webbed feet, and touched its amphibian skin with wonder. It was a fine frog.

A boy’s first frog is a big event in life. Grandma brought the camera out to record the occasion as the boy beamed with excitement and posed with the captured wild life.

“Can I keep it?” he pleaded.

“You can keep it for a little while, but then you have to turn it loose so it can go home.”

“But why?”

Grasping for a reason that a five-year-old could comprehend without being told the gruesome details of a wild creature’s slow death in captivity, my daughter replied, “Its mother will be worried.”

My grandson looked thoughtful, then suggested, “Maybe we could catch the mother too?”

A child’s simple logic demands truth.

“Wild creatures need to be free, even frogs,” explained his mother. “Wild things cannot live unless they are free.”

Finally, he understood and nodded. “Well, I’ll just keep it for a little while,” he said, still not ready to give up ownership of such a fascinating, bug-eyed creature.

Too soon it was time to return the frog to its environment. The bucket was taken outside and turned on its side, and the creature hopped away and disappeared into the flowerbed.

My grandson tried to find it among the daylilies the next morning, but the frog was gone back to wherever frogs go to hide when there is no torrential rain in which to play.

My grandson is still young. There will be more rain in his life and other frogs that will come out on dark nights from secret places.

But this frog will always be special – there will never be another frog
exactly like this one.

It was a boy’s first frog.

©2004

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